 It was long before the shamrock, the dear isle's loved emblem,
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon lion's paw,
I was called by the colleens around me assembling
Their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood,
Though four score and three years have flitted since then.Still it gives sweet reflection, as every first joy should,
For free-hearted boys make the best of old men.